


Just So You Can Fly

by Muffie



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Consensual, Consensual bondage, Episode: s03e07 Common Ground, Hurt John Sheppard, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muffie/pseuds/Muffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing that ever settled John's insides was pulling Gs. When Todd the Wraith gave him years back, probably made of parts of Genii, all of John's insides squirmed to get out. Rodney thinks he has a solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just So You Can Fly

**Author's Note:**

> For [TicTacTales](http://tictactales.livejournal.com/) on LJ. Prompts: Robe, Loyalty, Rope Bondage
> 
> This is **NOT** a how-to manual. Do **NOT** try this at home.

John raced after Ronon, along the wooded trail toward the Genii gate, as fast as he could. Ronon's heavy shoulders disappeared around a bend over a klick away. He couldn't catch up to Ronon, not anymore, not now. Ronon and his big gun were gone. He sucked in air as much as he could, though it felt like he was suffocating on it. He tried to yell, to get Ronon's attention, to get Ronon to slow down, to wait, to come back to him because he was so fucking helpless like this, but he couldn't and Ronon never even looked back. He was alone. Teyla wasn't there. Rodney wasn't there. They left him. Why did the leave him? Gone. No one to save him but himself. No one to protect him but himself. No one but a few Genii jumping onto the trail, out of the shadows of the woods. Any sense of safety he'd finally gained when he became part of the team shattered like fine crystal under a tuning fork. He felt like he was coming apart the way a nova does, turning the air around him into an accretion disk of what was left his parts. Knowing that it wouldn't do any good, that he was too useless like this, John still threw himself at a sneering Genii soldier. John's hands, gnarled and twisted by age, curved like claws. If he was lucky, he'd do some damage when he hit the man. He hit the floor with a painful thump. The floor, not the ground. He blinked his eyes open. Dark. Carpet. Scents of ocean and the quartermaster's laundry detergent. Home. He rolled onto his back and shuddered. 

A quick look at his watch told him that he'd barely hit the first REM cycle when he woke up. Again. His quarters were warm and he was sweating, almost clammy with it, but inside he felt like he'd been taken over by an ice planet. He wrapped his hands around his wrists, each palm on the tender skin of his inner wrist, where the veins drew spider webs on the skin surface, his fingers curling around to his forearms like thick ropes, and his thumbs pressing hard into the sharp edge of his ulna bones. He squeezed, hard enough to feel the comfort of restraint, of being held in and together, if only by his own fingers. God, he needed more. The circle of pressure around his wrists settled him into his skin a bit, allowed him to control his breathing and slow his heart rate, to feel a step closer to feeling like himself. He stared at his own ceiling and thought about trying to get back to sleep.

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the shaking of his five-years younger knees, and pulled on his running gear. He needed to forget all of the bullshit. It was time to move the fuck on and get over it already. A good run would clear his head.

He'd been running for far too long by the time dawn hit. He knew it, didn't care. Somewhere in the shinier parts of Atlantis, if they figured it out, Elizabeth and Carson would be conspiring to make him, make him _something_. See Heightmeyer. Take some antidepressants. Talk to someone. Neither of them understood. They didn't have the first fucking clue. Kate, maybe she had a clue, a glimmering of a clue. Some basic psychobabble understanding of what really mattered and what it all meant to people like him and the marines that he commanded. Maybe she did. As much as she spoke with marines every day, she should. Hell if he knew. He rounded a curve and headed down another darkened section of hallway. Atlantis would light it up for him, usually did, but he had asked her not to. He wanted the dark. He had no idea what it said about his sanity or lack thereof that he considered darkness necessary for solitary jogging. Not that Ronon wouldn't have come with, but he didn't need the company. Or the silent nagging to take better care of himself. He got enough of it from the looks and sighs coming out of Elizabeth and Carson. Kate, too, if he wasn't avoiding her.

Atlantis was nothing like Genii's bunker system, even in the dark. She was elegant and bright with whites and delicate patterns. Genii stunk like moldy concrete, blood, and brittle, old metal. But the shadows that fell—sometimes the patterns looked like gridwork on the floor. Like iron bars of the cages that lined the concrete. Like—

He gritted his teeth and pushed himself faster. He could feel the pain radiating from his feet now. The blister he'd been working on five miles ago had popped and was juicing his sock up.

Stupid. It was so fucking stupid. Such a fucking _waste_. He'd watched monster flicks off and on throughout his life. They were good for copping a feel on a girl that didn't think she was that kind of girl. They were fun to make fun of. They all pretty much had one thing in common. There were good guys who were trying to save the world from the monster or killer. There were the bad guys, not to be confused with the monster, who wanted to take advantage of the monster to get power or money or both over the rest of the world. And there was the monster who didn't give a shit about money or power because all people were the same to them. The Genii. Fucking bastards. Stupid sons of bitches. Worthless pieces of shit. The Genii were so fucking busy worrying about taking over the galaxy that they were getting everyone killed off instead. If they'd just be allies. Band together with the Hoffans and the _fuck_! 

He wanted to stop and scream, roar at the stupidity of it all, but he knew if he did that he'd probably fall over and have to call someone. He couldn't stand it, not now. Their concern, their sympathy, their _pity_ was like the creeping sensation of thousands of centipede legs crawling over every inch of his skin, toward his heart, where his life was sucked out, bit by bit, minute by minute, hour by hour, month by month, in an unbearable sort of horrific agony of the soul, if not physical pain. God, he was getting stupid poetic. Horrific agony of the soul? Rodney would be more horrified by that than by the feeding. But it was right somehow, true. Centipede legs everywhere and a pain in his soul. Indescribable. 

Somewhere, Todd was carrying a part of him around. Digesting a part of him. Like a piece of meat, or eggs, or beer. And he was carrying around parts of Genii. 

He pushed himself into a sprint, or what passed for one in an old, old man, so he wouldn't feel the Genii parts Todd had stuck in him squirm and writhe, trying to get out, free, the way the long-held memories from the other parts of his life demanded freedom. God, if he could only take out a jumper, turn off the inertial dampeners and pull some g's. He could keep his insides in, sucked into his core where they belong by purest form of gravity there was. 

He hit another runner's wall, the second on this particular run, and tried to force himself past it. Tried to run through it. He tripped over smooth Atlantis floor and skidded a bit down the hall. He lay there, shivering and trying not to vomit. His lungs felt clawed from running. His throat, right in the back just beyond where his tonsils used to be, burned like sulfuric acid. 

Once he'd gotten his breath back and stomach under control, he rolled onto his butt and settled against a wall, his fingers and thumbs clutching tightly at his wrists. He sat there and breathed, feeling the low hum of connection between himself and Atlantis, and tried to pretend that he didn't feel completely alone in the creeping shadows.

***

A few days later, John sat in the mess, feeling older than when Todd had sucked the life out of him. He figured that he had another night or two without sleep and a lot more running before he'd have to appropriate someone's makeup to keep from looking just like he felt. Carson had made a few clucking noises about sleep aids after the last meeting, but he'd managed to duck out of that. No way in hell was he going to take something that would put and keep him out of it. It just wasn't safe. He pushed that thought away and forced a bit more fake-bacon down. He picked a crumb off his muffin and wondered if he'd choke on it before he swallowed it.

Teyla settled in across from him. Ronon, a few seconds behind, took the chair next to her. A surprisingly silent Rodney dropped into the chair next to him.

"Good morning, John," Teyla said. Ronon looked at his face, winced, and looked away.

"Morning," John said.

Teyla ignored her plate in order to frown thoughtfully at him.

"Just spit it out, Teyla," he said, keeping his eyes on the eggs he knew he wouldn't be able to eat. It shouldn't be too hard to slip them onto Rodney's plate, if Teyla would quit looking at him long enough.

"We are concerned for you."

John shrugged. "I'll be fine."

Ronon eyed him for a moment, grunted, and started shoveling breakfast. Rodney sighed. Teyla's frown took on worry lines. "John, you are..."

"I'll be fine, Teyla. Sure, I have to work through some stuff, but I. Will. Be. Fine." John stood and picked up his tray. "I appreciate your concern, but it's not necessary."

Teyla looked up at him unhappily, then gave in with a graceful slump of her shoulders. "If you wish to talk, I will listen."

Ronon snagged the muffin off of his tray. "Don't run without me anymore."

Rodney didn't look up.

"Anything to say, McKay?"

"Just don't be an idiot, Colonel."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"John," Teyla inserted before they could devolve into heavy sarcasm, "it is not that we think you are unable to protect yourself. You are a strong man and you are a capable leader. You have more than earned the loyalty we feel for you. It is simply that we are here for you, should you need us."

John's teeth ground together hard enough that he could feel the veins in his temples throbbing. McKay's eyes narrowed. John forced himself to smile pleasantly at Teyla. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome."

"I've got paperwork. Catch you later." John made sure to saunter as usual, so it wouldn't look like he was running away with his tail tucked between his legs.

***

He'd put in a full day of work, paperwork, roaming the halls, meetings with his subordinates and Elizabeth, working a few piece of Ancient tech for Radek, and doing PT with marines. He didn't want to head to his quarters, but there really wasn't any place else for him go. Maybe he'd get into War and Peace for a while.

Rodney was sitting in his rumpled bed, frowning at the Johnny Cash poster when John came in. "No wonder you're not sleeping with that staring at you all night."

"McKay, I'm not in the mood."

Rodney waved a hand over his head. "Whatever. You look like shit."

John sighed, big, long, and with a lot of noise. "What do you want?"

"I'm going to make sure you sleep tonight, even if it impugns your manly dignity. After all, you can't keep my big brain safe if you're a sleep deprived zombie."

John couldn't breathe for a second. Safe? Rodney wanted to feel _safe_. He sucked in a breath, then let it go. He did it again. That felt good, almost steady. "How do you plan to do that?"

"I can either drag you down to see Carson or read you the regulations for personnel management the IOA sent with Elizabeth specifically for me."

How could he possibly feel so alone in tight quarters with his best friend, a best friend who was there specifically to help him? "I'm fi—"

"Or you can tell me what's bothering you so much that it has you running around Atlantis all night every night."

John opened his mouth.

"Don't bother lying. I bugged your quarters three days ago. You talk in your sleep when you have either wet dreams or bad dreams." Rodney frowned. "And you haven't been having the wet kind lately."

"What? You bugged my! You rat bastard. What the hell did you do that for?"

Rodney sniffed in disdain. "Of course I did. You aren't talking. How else am I supposed to get any information out of you? I'm concerned and so here I am."

John crossed his arms over his chest. "Why you, not Teyla?"

Rodney snorted and waved the hand again. "If you were going to spill your guts to Teyla, you would've done it by now. You're not seeing Heightmeyer or Carson. So that leaves me. Talk."

"It's just a few bad dreams. They'll go away and I'll be fine."

"I have no doubt. I won't let you be anything but."

"I don't need your help."

Rodney snorted again, more sarcastically if that was at all possible. "Of course you don't. You're the big bad Colonel here. We all rely on you to prot—"

Protect. Keep them all safe. The fury came out of nowhere. "Maybe I don't want to protect everyone!" He shoved his hands through his hair to keep from punching something, maybe even Rodney. "Maybe I want to be the one protected for a change. Maybe I want to be the one being kept safe and not the one keeping your big brain safe all the time!"

Rodney looked thoughtful rather than offended or mad. "Huh."

"Look, just go. I'll be—"

"No."

"I mean it, Rodney. Don't—"

"John, I—"

"No. Let me have a little dignity here. Just leave me alone."

Rodney stood up and took a few steps closer, well within striking distance. "I can't do that, John." He tilted his head, the thinking hard expression firmly on his face. "You aren't dealing with it."

John opened his mouth to say something again, but nothing was coming out. 

"It's not the wraith or the Genii is it?" Rodney reached out and wrapped a hand around John's shoulder. "It's you."

John frowned. "What?"

"You don't want to be responsible. It makes sense. Ford, Michael, Sumner."

John felt like he'd been stabbed in the heart. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Rodney had that look on his face, the one that said he was hot on the trail of creating his own ZPMs. "You're a good leader, John. You have to know that. You've done better than nearly anyone else could have in your position."

Now his gut ached, too. "I'm not feeling inadequate, Rodney."

"So what is it? The responsibility of command? Loneliness at the top? The weight of the world?"

"Leave it alone."

"No. Tell me."

"I'm—"

"You're going to tell me." Rodney's fingers dug into his shoulder a bit. It took everything John had not to lean into the strength in that grip. "You're the best friend I've ever had, Sheppard. I'm not best friend material, but you've stuck by me anyway. I'm going to stick by you, too. You're going to let me."

John sighed again. "I appreciate that, I really do, but..." John spread his hands and grinned something that was more grimace than grin. "I'll be fine buddy. It's just a few bumps in the road."

Rodney looked sad and lost. "Is it so hard to believe I care?"

John hated that look on Rodney. The man sometimes looked sad, but never lost, even when he was lost. Then, he just looked pissed. "Rodney, I..."

"Please?"

He felt like he'd been kicking Rodney's kitten. "God, Rodney." He rubbed his face. "I don't think I can tell you. It's, it's fucked up."

Rodney patted his shoulder in an absent kind of motion, the way you'd pet a cat when you were paying more attention to the television than the cat. "I can do fucked up, John."

John took a deep breath, held for a moment, then let it all out with his confession: "The nightmares are driving me nuts."

Rodney stared at him earnestly, as open and receptive as John had ever seen him.

John nodded.

Rodney blinked. "That's it?"

"Well, yeah, that's it." A dark kind of annoyance had John twisting his face up. The usual friendly kind of annoyance he regularly felt toward Rodney, the kind that had him quirking his lips a bit in a fake sneer, just didn't fit.

Rodney blew out his breath in a short huff. "I bugged your quarters, remember? You're not talking about the usual nightmare stuff, like getting eaten by a wraith or losing a fight to Kolya. You're screaming about how you're cold and how your insides are crawling around trying to get outside." John felt the acid in his gut gnawing at him; it was the only warm spot in his body, which had suddenly gotten cold. Rodney's hands dropped to his sides where they closed into tight, white, bloodless fists. He stared at his feet. "You call for us. Teyla, Ronon." Rodney looked up. "Mostly me."

"Rodney, I—"

"No, John. You do it. You sound so terrified. Helpless, even. I wanted to come and," Rodney lifted his hands, palms up for a moment, " _do_ something, somehow." His hands dropped back to his sides. "But I didn't know what and I figured you'd ask for help if you wanted it."

John wanted to reassure Rodney, but he was too cold inside and it was already hard enough to keep everything contained.

"But you didn't. And I think I got it. I'm not one of those useless, rattle-waving charlatans in psychology, but I'm not an idiot." The confidence in Rodney's expression was far more assertive, almost to the point of aggression, than the gentleness in the soft words and tone. "We weren't there when you needed us most."

"It's not your fault. I don't blame you for that."

"You want to feel protected and safe, too."

John forced himself to laugh. "Where did you get that ridiculous idea?"

"Clues were there. Some things you've been saying. The look you got this morning when Teyla said we had faith in your ability to protect yourself. You said it yourself a few minutes ago."

John clenched his teeth. "I'm fine."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "No, you're not. You need—"

Another person telling him what he needed. He fucking knew what he needed. Space! "Goddammit, Rodney! I just fucking said that I'm going to be fucking fine! I might have a few nightmares, but I will work through it. I don't need a fucking babysitter holding my goddamn hand! I'm not one of your idiot scientists that you think you need to watch every minute of every day. Last time I checked, I'm a fucking officer in the United States Air Force. I'm the fucking commanding officer of this entire fucking city! If I can take care of everyone on this fucking base, I can goddamn well take care of myself without you around to hold my fucking hand!"

Rodney's eyes widened. He could swear the pupils in those eyes were dilating. Rodney's mouth gaped almost unattractively, and then his brows puckered. "John, I—"

"No. Just, no." John opened the door with a single thought. "I think you should leave now."

"But—"

"No. _Leave_ , Rodney."

Rodney frowned deeply, his bottom lip curling outward and a flush of hurt in his cheeks. He sighed. "Fine, Colonel. You know where I am." With that, Rodney turned and left.

"Christ," John said. He watched the door for a few moments, minutes maybe, then determinedly yanked off his clothes, down to his boxers. He flopped on the bed with his knuckles brushing the wall. He contemplated the ceiling. It was dark. That was it. It had no secrets to tell. It had no ears to listen. It had no advice to give. Somewhere, in his lab or his room, Rodney was thinking John was an asshole and maybe feeling a little rough around the edges from getting yelled at for being a friend and maybe John really was an asshole because feeling rough around the edges really sucked.

Before he even thought about it, John had pulled on his pants and robe and snagged a full bottle of Zelenka's rotgut from his foot locker and was halfway to Rodney's room. He went inside without knocking or asking. Just had Atlantis open the door, let him in, and then lock it behind him. Rodney was sitting on his bed, fiddling with a life sign detector and looking lost and unhappy. Rodney looked up from the LSD and the unhappy slipped off a little, but the lost stayed in place.

John sat next to him on the bed. "I'm sorry."

Rodney sighed. "Me, too."

John uncapped the bottle, took a heavy drink that burned its way down to his belly, and then passed it to Rodney. Rodney sniffed at it, then took his own drink.

John took the bottle back and, after another drink, admitted, "You're my best friend, too. Best I've ever had."

"I am? Well, of course I am. I'm a great best friend." Rodney snatched the bottle and took a drink. "Who am I kidding. I'm a crappy best friend. You need something from me and I didn't even notice. I still have no idea how to be there for you. It's not like I can give you more power or build a bomb and everything will suddenly be okay."

John took the bottle, and slid his ass off the edge of the bed. He felt better with his butt on the floor, back to the mattress, and his knees drawn up in front of him, feet flat on the floor. "Even geniuses can only do so much." He took a sip and handed the bottle up to Rodney without looking.

He heard a small drink from above him, then the sound of liquid sloshing slowly and deliberately in the glass container. "It's like you're coming apart in front of me and I can't do anything to fix it."

John suppressed a shudder only by putting each hand on the opposite wrist, circling the wrists with thumbs and fingers, and squeezing. This pulled the robe tight across his back, the compression along his spine and shoulders almost, but not nearly enough. 

"Huh," Rodney said in the same tone he used whenever he thought he'd found another clue to creating his own ZPM.

John couldn't force his hands to let his wrists go.

Seconds later, Rodney's hand curved over his shoulder and squeezed. John tensed. Rodney's hand tensed, flexed, and dug in a little too hard. John shuddered and leaned into it, couldn't help it.

"Elizabeth thinks that I should delegate more in the labs," Rodney said. His voice was uncertain, but brash, like an attempt at an experiment he was uncertain of. Rodney's hand did not move. The robe beneath his palm scrunched with wrinkles and John shivered with further compression that heated his skin.

John couldn't say a thing. He wanted to, but he was...he didn't know what he was. 

"I could get more work done if I could," Rodney added, a bit more quietly.

John's shoulder felt a bit more damp, between the heat and Rodney's palm sweating somewhat. John shivered, then managed to hold himself perfectly still. Almost not breathing. If he would squeeze, just a bit more. Press down, keep John inside his skin. Just....

"But you know how the idiots are. They aren't scientists; they're trained monkeys."

Just squeeze. Just squeeze.

"They don't think."

John couldn't stop himself from pushing his shoulder into Rodney's hand. The fingers tightened a little more. More, please....

"More what?" Rodney's voice was gentle, something Rodney's voice never was.

John gritted his teeth and pulled himself away from Rodney's grip. Rodney's grip went with him.

"More of this?" Rodney squeezed more.

John whimpered. Nodded. Shame and fear battled for dominance.

"Why?"

John shook his head harshly, unable to speak. The thought of speaking made his guts roil and squirm.

"Huh," Rodney said. "I think I understand."

John squeezed his eyes shut. There was no way Rodney understood. How could that happen when John didn't understand anything himself?

"John, take your arms out of the sleeves of your robe."

He froze inside, all of his muscles delivering the tensile strength of tungsten. He didn't know what to do, pull away? Get up and run? Leave?

"I want to see if I do understand, but you'll have to help me out. That means taking your arms out of the sleeves of your robe. Keep it on, but just not the arms. Can you do that?" Rodney was using the soothe the savage, feral cat voice that usually drove John nuts. The voice that generally failed to be soothing because it was Rodney.

His muscles unknotted enough for him to pull his arms out. It was slow going, one at a time, skin easing through the rough cloth. He felt ridiculous and faintly ashamed. He was acting like that feral cat, ready to bolt out of the room at the slightest wrong move from Rodney. He was a lieutenant colonel in the air force, for crying out loud, not some fainting debutante. The sleeves finally hung free, drooping along his sides to pool on the floor. The back of the robe relaxed its pressure along his spine and shoulders. He gritted his teeth again, to quit whimpering about it.

Rodney shifted, stood up, and then walked around in front of him. John could only see bare toes and the pants. Rodney squatted, bringing his t shirt into view. "I'm going to try something, okay? If you don't like it, just tell me and I'll stop and we can think of something else, but I think I get it and I think I can do something about it."

Get it? Do something? John dared to look up into Rodney's face. Rodney looked sincere and caring over his serious genius at work expression. It was the serious genius at work expression that got him, because he knew that Rodney saved the universe when he looked like that. John faintly nodded.

Rodney slowly picked up the sleeves of the robe, as if he thought John would run screaming out of the door at any moment—he just might—and pulled them forward. John watched, heart pounding, as Rodney flattened the sleeves across John's biceps, and then tied the sleeves together with the first half of a bowtie knot. John found himself shivering again, compressing his arms against his body. Rodney pulled the sleeves tighter, until the seams creaked and John whimpered in the back of his throat with his head lolling back, against the mattress. Rodney finished the bow off.

There was so much inside of him now, more than he'd ever felt before. He thought he would hyperventilate, if he could get past the feeling of nausea. His muscles were relaxing, even though it was a stupid thing for them to do, against the tension blanketing his torso. His heart wasn't. The door was unblocked and vulnerable. The balcony was open. It didn't matter than no one could really get past the lock John's genes put on the door, it was still unguarded and the warmth of the robe around him and the strength of Rodney in front of him couldn't change that.

"The door," he said.

Rodney's head tilted, his crooked mouth crooking more. "The door?"

He jerked his head. "Open."

Rodney looked at it. "It's locked."

John shook his head. "Anyone could break in."

Rodney blinked, then nodded. "We won't stay like this very long and I can have you untied and ready to go in less than a second."

That helped, but not much.

"You're relaxing, though," Rodney said. He looked at the door, and then back at John. "You're calming down."

John thought about it, and then nodded miserably. What kind of freak was he?

Rodney plucked at the bow and tugged the sleeves free, opening him back up until the things inside of him started squirming again. John shook his head, "No, no."

"You don't feel safe, John. We can't do this if you don't feel safe."

John yanked the sleeves out of Rodney's hands and pulled them over his arms. Not enough. Never enough. "Do what?"

Rodney shrugged. "I don't know what to call it, but we can't."

"It's..." John shook his head again, trying to get his thoughts back into some kind of line. "It's...please."

"Is that what you need? Was I right?"

John nodded. Yeah. Yeah it was. "How did you know? I didn't know so how did you?"

"The clues were there. Things you said, some of the things you did. I don't think anyone else would notice them, unless you're going to tell them outright."

"Will you, uh, can we..." John had no idea what to ask for.

"Yes, we'll do something like this again. When we can figure out how to make you feel safe when we do this. How can you relax if you're afraid someone will come through the door?"

That made sense. "When?"

"Tomorrow night? No, that won't work. Morning. Tomorrow. About nine? Will that work?"

"I have a staff meeting. Ten?"

"I can do ten. Come here at ten and we'll try this again."

John pulled himself to his feet, feeling as if he'd run a thousand miles. "Thanks."

John had spent every waking minute between then and now, just before ten, convinced he should call Rodney and tell him no, and just as convinced that he'd never be able to. He knew that Rodney would get the message if he just didn't show up. Probably would get the message. Maybe. Whether Rodney would accept the implied no or just hunt him down, John couldn't guess. His staff meeting, essentially, he, Lorne, and Bates reporting that nothing new was happening and then shooting the bull, had ended in plenty of time and he was doing his best to stick to the idea that whatever had happened shouldn't be repeated. It would be stupid for Atlantis' military commander to put himself in a position like that. Ever again.

Still, he stood up and stretched. Him thought vaguely of telling himself it was all about getting a snack and coffee before hitting the paperwork, but it wasn't. He was going to Rodney. He moved through the corridors, shuffling and laconic so everyone would think he was doing something normal, and tried to plan out what to say, how to tell Rodney that they couldn't do this, this whatever it was. That he would be fine with a little more time to settle, or something. That he wouldn't be doing the stupid thing.

He thought about his robe, wrapped around him and holding him in, the sleeves in a bow and Rodney's anxious breathing in the room with him. The heat, the warmth, the _settling_. 

John was known in two galaxies for doing the stupid thing.

Rodney looked up when John slid into Rodney's quarters. He smiled, then didn't smile, then moved to a worried, but determined expression.

"Hey, Rodney." John cleared his throat and looked everywhere but at Rodney.

"Um. So."

There was some silence broken only by the sounds of the ocean environment beyond Rodney's open balcony doors. There should have been ticking, like the clock John had on his bed stand, to go with the ratcheting tension in the room.

John's eyes fell on the bed. "Is that a _zat_?"

Rodney reach out and touched the handle with a finger. Poked it. "Yeah."

There was a thick roll of flesh-colored fabric that looked a lot like an Ace bandage, if it were dozens of feet longer than the usual bandage. He couldn't stop the shiver when he imagined what that would feel like. "So what's," he cleared his throat again. "What's the plan?"

"Well. I thought that I could wrap you in this," Rodney picked up the fabric roll and then set it back down, "to see how it feels. It's fabric, like your robe, but it's also built like a rope so it's more versatile. I think that with some experimentation we can find a configuration that suits the best." Rodney picked up a knife. "This is so I can cut it off and have you free as fast as possible. It's not like the robe where I can just pull the sleeves apart." 

John refused to look at Rodney directly, but he did catch Rodney's abashed look from the edges of his vision.

Rodney set the knife down. "The zat is so I can shoot anyone that manages to override the lock on the door. Even if it's Teyla. I can shoot her once and cut you free. Or if it's someone bad, I can shoot him three times."

"We don't have zats on Atlantis," John said. 

Rodney's face took on his pinched, the universe is populated by stupid, expression. "We actually have three. This one, and two others that we've been using to develop weapons. Something of a hybrid of Ronon's gun and the zat. We stole them from the SGC."

"I'm going to pretend that I don't know that," John said. He thought about asking for more information, particularly the date he could expect to have one of his own, but his eyes took in the bandage roll and his mouth went a little dry. God, what would it feel like? He told himself he should run away, as fast as possible, but nothing inside of him was listening. All of him was focused on the bandage roll and the idea of what it meant. What it meant for him. He clenched his fingers to hold himself still.

"Great. So I think it would be best if you took your clothes off for this. "

John's head jerked enough for him to look directly into Rodney's eyes, his fingers twitched reflexively. "What?"

Rodney flushed, but didn't look away. "Do you trust me to take care of you, John?"

John clenched his jaws together. Did he trust Rodney? He was here, wasn't he? Knowing that he was coming here to get tied up in some way, because that was what Rodney had done with the robe last night. Tied him with the sleeves. Bound him. Wrapped him in cloth and anchored him to himself in a way that not even pulling 5 Gs ever did for him. Anchored him enough for a few moments that he was able to sleep well for more than four hours. And that was with only a few minutes. A few minutes of relaxing, settling.

John reached down and worked the buckles of his holster. 

"John," Rodney said.

John pulled the holster off and looked around for a place to put it. He felt confused and a bit off balance.

"John," Rodney said again, "look at me."

Almost unwillingly, John looked at Rodney.

Rodney smiled. It was crooked and a bit timid. Rodney was anything but timid, even when he was acting like a coward. "You have to promise that you'll talk to me. If I ask a question, I need an answer to it. I have to know that you'll tell me when something hurts your or if you don't like or want something."

 _Talk_? John frowned, his insides squirming around on him. 

Rodney's lips thinned. "If you won't talk, we can't do this."

No. He nodded. Rodney looked expectant. "Yes," John said. "I'll tell you."

Rodney beamed. "Great! Why are you holding that thing? Put it on the bed or something. No, wait. Put it here, on the table. I think that you'll feel better if it's in reach. Put your clothes near it, but not on the bed. We'll use that."

John nodded again, and efficiently placed each piece of clothing on the floor next to the bedside table. He couldn't look at Rodney, not now. He felt ridiculous, the way he'd felt when he'd been in a room full of fellow air force ROTC cadets taking their clothes off to get a physical from a fully dressed doctor, who was checking paperwork on a clipboard across the room. Rodney was rearranging things. The zat and knife went next to the gun in its holster. 

Naked, John stood next to the table, his arms wrapped around himself, and watched the fluttering around the bed that Rodney was doing. The roll of bandages turned out to be just that. A roll with several bandages that Rodney laid out, one by one, next to each other on the bed. John swallowed a groan at the thought of the bandages wrapped around him, compressing him. There was a burn in the pit of his belly, a warmth that spread through him the same way it had spread through him when he was sitting in the locker room an hour before he'd gotten to fly on a fighter for the first time. He sucked in a breath and shivered.

"Come here," Rodney directed.

John stepped closer, faintly amused at Rodney's not-so furtive looks at John's body. Rodney squared his shoulders in an obvious attempt to be professional about the situation. Something in him relaxed, then.

"Put your arms by your sides. How does that feel?"

John stood at attention. He didn't like it. He shook his head a little, but only one word really occurred to him. "Open."

"Put your arms across your chest." Rodney tilted his head. "No, like King Tut, with your fingers up by your shoulders."

They were more pointing to his armpits than up by shoulders, with the inside of his right wrist crossing over the outside of his left wrist. Better. "Comfortable," John said. His voice sounded weird, kind of husky and a little soft.

"Good. Now, hold still while I do this. Tell me if it feels bunched, tight, loose, or if something's wrong." If John's sounded weird to his own ears, Rodney's matched it. Any thought of feeling ridiculous in, naked in front of Rodney in a King Tut pose, was swept away by that matching huskiness.

Rodney stood in front of John for a moment, faced scrunched up in annoyance. By the time John had decided that Rodney was annoyed because he couldn't figure out how to start, Rodney tucked an end of a bandage into John's left hand, folding the thumb and making the fingers straighten. After that it was the whispery sound of the bandages wrapping around his torso. 

When he'd been in college, John had sprained his wrist playing intramural basketball. For a losing team, even. He remembered the pain and the heat from the swollen and torn ligaments, though not well. The feeling of the bandage wrapping around his wrists, compressing the skin and muscles, holding his bones together and inside, he never forgot that. He'd forced himself to not wrap his wrist once it had healed enough.

That was nothing like this. Oh _this_.

John closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He felt his body swaying with each tug of the bandage Rodney was wrapping around him. 

"I have a few more," Rodney said softly, barely louder than the sound of wind and birds outside of the balcony. "I'm going to wrap them a bit lower, around your hips and thighs. Tell me if you want me to stop or remove them."

John's mouth formed the word yes, but it sounded more like a hiss. 

Rodney patted his cheek gently. "Good enough."

The bandages move lower, covering his hips, groin, and thighs. John thought he should be embarrassed. Rodney was handling private parts that no one but a doctor had handled in the better part of a decade. He was half hard until Rodney paused, huffed out a breath, and then pressed him upwards against his belly and wrapped the bandage around it, too. He felt himself lengthen and press upwards. Rodney chuckled in a way John had never heard before. It was caring. John's lips tilted up at the corners.

However long later, Rodney patted him on the thigh. "Done." Rodney's hands cupped him on the biceps, holding him still. "How do you feel?"

John licked his lips. "Good."

"Are there any parts of you that don't have enough circulation? Can you feel your fingers?"

"M'fine." John let out a long sigh. And he was fine. Really, incredibly fine.

"Is it tight enough?"

John opened his eyes and lifted his head. He wriggled a little, finding it a curious mesh of uncomfortable, he wanted the freedom to move, and comfortable, he felt stable and connected like he'd never felt before. "No."

"I can—"

"No," John said. "It's fine. Don't want to cut circulation." He blinked a little, feeling a bit like he was coming up from a heavy sleep.

"Okay. I'm going to turn you a little, and then help you back up so you can sit on the bed. Then I'm going to help you lay down on the bed."

"Kay."

John obeyed the gentle and not-so-gentle pressures Rodney's hands gave him, backing up inches at a time until his legs bumped the bed. Rodney pushed down on his shoulders and he sat. He followed the push to lay on his side, smiling a little at the grunt Rodney gave when Rodney caught him and eased him onto his side. More grunts accompanied the hands picking up his legs and settling them on the bed. After, it was wriggling and shifting away from the taps of fingers along his body, until he was on his back and settled.

"Good. Are you comfortable?"

He thought that word would apply. "Yeah." 

"How is the circulation?"

"Good. Fingers and toes."

"Good," Rodney said.

The bed dipped near his shoulder. He opened his eyes and tilted his head to watch Rodney settle in the bed next to him, back propped against the headboard, thigh pressed to John's shoulder, and feet kicked down beside John's hip. He heard the sound of the knife along the bed side table, and then the glint of the zat in Rodney hand, pointed at the door. The last bit of tension eased out of him.

He closed his eyes and straightened his head, relaxing into the bed. 

He drifted, not awake and not asleep, sort of floating yet tied to his own body. Is this what it felt like to be content in yourself? He cracked an eye open, just enough to see a serious expression on Rodney's face and the zat still pointing at the door. His eye eased its way closed again and he took as deep a breath as the bandages would let him, then slowly let it go.

"I'm going to ask you some questions," Rodney said.

"Mmm," John replied.

"Is this working?"

"Mmmhmmm." John felt too slack to say yes.

"Is it enough?"

John opened his eyes and looked up at Rodney, who was looking down at him. "I'm so tired," he found himself saying.

"Tired?"

"Mm. Don't sleep well." John yawned shallowly. "C'n sleep."

"Are you going to sleep now?"

"No."

"Good, because I won't let you."

John smiled a little. "Just wish..."

Rodney fingers trailed along his forehead and through his hair. "What do you wish?"

"Wish I could be flying now. I feel like me."

Rodney didn't say anything, but his fingers traced paths through John's hair and over his face, gently petting the skin with an occasional skritch in the scalp, the way that Rodney might pay attention to a cat. 

He'd never felt so connected, to himself, to others. He could feel tears stinging him in the back of his throat, but somehow it was all okay. Rodney was here. "I've never really soared," he found himself admitting in a whisper roughened by his raw throat.

Rodney's fingers touched his temple, made him aware of the wet there. He was crying?

"I think I understand," Rodney said.

John thought about the bandages holding him together, the zat holding the universe at bay, and the sense of quiet he'd never known he'd craved layered over muscles that had never really relaxed, he figured that Rodney probably really did understand. He rolled his head at the next stroke of fingers, pressing his face into Rodney's hand. "Thank you."

Rodney's hand curved around his skull, fitting itself to the planes and curves with solidity and warmth that wended its way comfortably through the peace John had found. With the tears drying on his skin, he found himself smiling, just a little because he didn't have enough tension in his muscles to smile more.

They remained that way for some more time, John didn't know how long, until something in Rodney's pocket vibrated quietly. It was enough to bring him out of his doze trance thing, but it didn't jar him. Rodney shifted next to him, and the vibration quit. "It's been two hours," Rodney said quietly. "I'm going to unwrap you."

He felt too relaxed to say anything, but Rodney wanted words. "Mmmk." It was more of a moan ending in a click in the back of his throat than an okay, but Rodney patted him and stood.

"Can you move?"

"Nnngh," John said. 

Rodney chuckled that chuckle again, the relaxed and caring sound that Rodney never, ever made. "I'll see what I can do. I am a genius after all."

The bandages began to loosen, starting around his hips and thighs. John moved only when Rodney prodded him, and pushed him. The bandages were pulled away, and sometimes yanked out from under him in a series of tugs. The pushing and pulling should have annoyed him, or at least made him want to stand up to make it easier, but he didn't want to move. Rodney muttered to himself, about red lines, heavy pilots, the elasticity of the bandages, impressions of fabric in skin, and mostly about heavy pilots. It was a soothing litany that felt just as, as, _connecting_ as the bind of the bandages.

John knew he was free when the wind ruffled across his skin and Rodney quit mumbling.

Rodney put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you going to get up?"

"Mmmph," John said.

Rodney chuckled again, and moved around the room. John ignored the sounds of Rodney poking through stuff, and couldn't find it in himself to tense up when he was unexpectedly covered by a blanket.

"I'll keep watch," Rodney said.

I know you will, was the last thought John had before falling completely asleep.

When he woke up, it was mostly dark and he was cuddled against Rodney's legs, one of Rodney's knees pressed into his armpit and his arm wrapped around Rodney's thighs. He blinked a bit at the feel of Rodeny's pants against his cheek. Rodney was sitting up, back propped against the wall behind the bed, mostly, and slumped over in a way that would kill his back. His hand was still in John's hair, curved around John's scalp. Rodney's laptop had slipped into hibernation on its own, it was dark, open, and poking John in the side. There was enough light coming from the moon through the balcony to see clearly enough.

He rolled a bit, more onto his back, so he could crick his neck comfortably enough to look up at Rodney's face. He was drooling slightly, his face a combination of slack and rumpled in worry. He looked so... _Rodney_. John couldn't stop the smile from carving itself across his lips, didn't want to, truth be told. Baby fine hair alternately sticking every which way and flattened to Rodney's skull, lips crooked and thinned to point of near invisibility, one of his cheeks vaguely jowled by gravity, the patrician nose bladed from the angle. John had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life than Rodney at that moment.

It couldn't last. Rodney's back would be kinked and John didn't particularly want to hear the bitching for the next three days, well, he didn't _not_ want to hear it either. To everyone else, it would be an annoying indication that Rodney had slept wrong. To John, it would be a reminder that Rodney _got_ him. And cared enough to do something about it.

It took everything John had to pull away from the warmth of Rodney's leg along his front and the comfort of Rodney's hand in his hair. He felt replete and refreshed and didn't want to give that up. But he did. It was late and past time he left, and well past time he let Rodney have his bed back enough for him stretch out.

"Rodney." John poked him in the leg.

Rodney groaned and smacked his lips.

"Rodney, time to move, buddy."

""s Con'ns watch," Rodney muttered.

John smiled. "You can go back to sleep, buddy. Just lay down, okay?"

Rodney moaned and clutched at John's arm. "Kay."

"I'm just going to go back to my quarters."

Rodney's eyes opened a little and he smacked his lips again, and then yawned. "John?"

"Yeah. Just gonna get dressed and go. You get some sleep."

Rodney sat up fully, eyes completely open. "Are you okay?"

"We're on Atlantis. Of course I'm fine."

"No, I mean from," Rodney gestured at the bed. "Did this work?"

John didn't know what to say for a moment, then didn't think he could say it past the burn in his throat. He nodded and managed a, "Yeah."

Rodney smiled then. "Good. I'm glad."

John's heart constricted a bit and the back of his throat grew a bit heavy. He didn't know what to say to that. Thank you didn't seem to be enough. Instead, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to Rodney's forehead. When he pulled away and climbed from the bed, Rodney shifted around to lay down. John poked through his clothes folded neatly beside the side table and began pulling them on while Rodney moved his laptop from the bed to the floor.

"John?" Rodney said while John strapped on his pistol.

"Hm?"

"You're welcome."

John smiled at him, ruffled the messy skein of hair on Rodney's head, and then headed to his own quarters.

He spent the next day in his usual routine, a morning run with Ronan, sticks with Teyla, doing paperwork, and finally wandering down to Rodney's lab well after most of his minions had taken off for the evening. 

Rodney was sitting at his computer, grumbling to himself about something. John recognized Rodney's build-his-own-ZPM calculations and something in him quieted down. Rodney only trotted those out after he'd sent everyone away. John draped himself on the chair next to Rodney. "Whatcha doing?"

"Working." Rodney glared at him for a moment before the glare evaporated. "You're looking better today."

John smiled. "I feel better. Thank you."

Rodney studied him with the same expression he reserved for difficult calculations.

"What?"

"I want to try something," Rodney said. "Test a hypothesis."

"Oh?"

Rodney rummaged through a box of wires and cables, then pulled up what looked like a Cat-5 cable, colored artificially flavored bubblegum blue, with one of the ends clipped off. 

John frowned. "What's that for?"

Rodney held the cord out in his palm, the same way a wallflower fourth grade boy might hold out a piece of Halloween candy for a girl he hoped would like him back. "Will you trust me?"

John turned his frown on Rodney, who was staring back at him all earnestness and nervousness. Yes, he discovered, yes, he would. "Yes."

Rodney smiled. "Hold your wrists out."

Oh. A little unsure—the lab was one of the least secure places, as far as people wandering in and out go—John held his wrists out, as if Rodney was going to handcuff him and lead him off to jail. 

With his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, Rodney slowly wound one half of the cable around John's right wrist and then the other half around John's left wrist. He watched silently, without offering any resistance, as loops of blue cable hugged his wrists and drew them together. Once done, Rodney tucked the lengths at each end of the cable into John's right hand. John pulled at them gently, testing the limits and snugness. They didn't compress him like the bandages had, or like his robe had, but they held him firmly, quieted the thrum of energy running through his muscles just as the bandages had.

"It wouldn't take much for you to get free on your own. Not like with the bandages." Rodney glared at John's wrists. "I had to return them to the infirmary. Carson runs that place like some kind of military reform school." Rodney poked at a piece of dull metal covered by paper. "I have the zat."

"Oh." John took a deep breath and let it go. He felt deeply oxygenated and a bit lazy now. He let his body fall lax in the chair. 

Rodney smirked. "Works?"

John nodded. He remembered what Rodney had said before he'd been wrapped the bandages. He had to speak or it would not happen. "Yeah."

"Just as good? Less? More?"

John thought about the relaxation spreading through his body from his wrists. Of course, he'd felt mellow pretty much all day long, unlike last time, when he'd been strung like warped guitar string. But still, relaxation spreading all over. "Just as good, maybe better. Calmer today."

Rodney's smirk turned into a smile. "Okay, then. I'm gonna just," Rodney pointed at the laptop. "Tell me if you need anything."

"Kay," John said. 

With his eyes drooping, he listened more than watched Rodney work on the laptop. Sometimes Rodney sat back and stretched, but mostly he leaned forward and typed.

He didn't sleep, not precisely. John had no idea what to call his state. It was sort of like that place between sleeping and waking, where the body was still, quiet, and all of everything inside of him was where it was supposed to be without any Gs, without any gripping, or any robe. It was that place that snooze alarms were built for, so you could just lie there in bed, toasty warm from body heat and cocooning blankets, not dreaming, but not thinking either. It was.... It was perfect.

Eventually, there was that vibration again. The one from Rodney's room yesterday, only a bit louder because it rattled along the table. John opened his eyes all the way, just knowing he was smiling goofily when he focused on Rodney. 

"It's been thirty minutes," Rodney said.

Wow, John thought. That long.

The cables were tugged from his hands, then gently unwrapped. His wrists were a bit reddened from heat and tenderness. There was an mark from the bit of the cable in odd places, where he'd pulled on them. Rodney dropped the cable on table top and produced a pot of lotion like stuff they got from the Athosians in trade for soap. Rodney's fingers massaged his wrists, down into his palms, spreading the cool cream into his skin. John felt boneless and a little sleepy.

Rodney capped the pot. "There."

"Thanks, buddy," John managed.

"I don't think you'll be able to do dinner for a while."

John smiled. "Already ate."

"Can you make it to your quarters? You should catch up on your sleep."

Great idea. John yawned. "In a minute."

Rodney smiled. "Need help getting there?"

John huffed a breath, too lazy to get disgruntled. "Nah. I'll head out in a minute."

Still smiling, Rodney shook his head and turned back to the computer. John sat up, even though that's the last thing he wanted to do, and watched him work. Finally, Rodney shut the computer down. John levered himself to his feet, still feeling as if he were floating a bit, and meandered after Rodney, at least until he had to separate to reach his own quarters.

Further experimentation in the following weeks showed that various levels of binding with various materials produced the same effects for John, but not when he did it himself. He suspected that it was mostly just Rodney who could keep him together with a few loops of rope or whatever else was handy—he could trust Rodney to not think less of him for it—but Ronon or Teyla could probably do in a pinch. Maybe. He didn't know how Ronon would react to a man willingly putting himself into such a vulnerable position and he suspected that Teyla might not think less of him, but would certainly treat him as if he were more, well, fragile. Rodney didn't treat him any differently. Maybe to Rodney, nothing had changed, aside from a new dimension to their friendship. John had no way to describe the relief he felt to discover that Rodney was just as _Rodney_ now as he ever had been. There were some differences. Rodney always carried a loop of 5-50 cord now. The cord was just long enough to loop around both of John's wrists in an infinity loop with enough space for Rodney to hold both ends in one hand, or to tuck the ends into John's fist. Sometimes, when John was jiggling and didn't notice, he'd find one wrist circled by Rodney's hand and slowly squeezed for a few moments. 

No, despite the loyalty he felt toward Ronon and Teyla, and the loyalty he knew they had for him, it would only work with Rodney. They loyalty between the two of them was thicker, partly a shared set of cultural values, despite the Canadian thing, partly a shared reference point, but mostly because it was Rodney. Rodney understood action and reaction. If you subject a mass to gravity, it will fall with predictable acceleration. If you bound John Sheppard for this length of time in such a manner, he would predictably alter his behavior. To Rodney, there didn't seem to be a difference between calculating physics and calculating John. Once he understood the laws of John, that was apparently all there was to it. Passing judgment, which was generally the first thing Rodney did when confronted with someone's behavior, wasn't in the agenda. At least not with John. Connected and safe. It was heady enough for John to doubt its reliability, if it was even a good thing. But it was _Rodney_. And Rodney, all evidence to the contrary, just knew how to handle John with this thing.

A week after Rodney's sister had gone back home and Rod was gone—that had been too weird, John had enjoyed a sociable version Rodney, but couldn't see himself allowing Rod to touch him—they settled. Rodney had taken to gripping his wrist to settle himself these days, not just John. He didn't do it often, but usually once a day John could count on feeling that wide, strong hand calloused by years of fixing Atlantis. But not today, apparently. Rodney had been absent all day long. John had wandered around, looking for him, but nothing. He kept missing him. With nothing left, John slunk into the mess and fetched a piece of pie. He shifted crumbs around with his fork, but didn't eat. He didn't think the food would fit in his belly with the sinking lump of tension he'd picked up. Maybe Rodney was finished with their thing. Maybe he'd figured out all he thought he needed to know and was moving on.

Then Rodney dropped into the chair next to him. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

John tilted his head. "Seems to be going around."

"You gonna eat that?" Rodney reached for the pie just as John pushed it toward him. "I've got something worked out, Colonel. Something I think you'll really like. And I've got something else worked out. I don't know if you'll like it or not, but I think you'll agree with it."

John frowned. "What is it?"

John found his wrist circled by Rodney's fingers for a moment, then let go. He also got a close up of Rodney shoveling the last chunk of pie into an already full mouth. He looked away. "Oh."

"No need to sound so bored, Colonel." 

He was glad he'd looked away. Rodney could be hard to take in many ways, one of the worst was his table manners. Or complete lack thereof.

Rodney stood, still chewing. "C'mon."

"What's the rush?"

"Do you want to see this or not?"

John stood up, too, and stuck his hands in his pockets. Rodney gave him a narrow-eyed glare, then led the way to Rodney's quarters.

There was rope on the bed. A _lot_ of rope. It was soft rope, too, made from a cotton type fiber that really wasn't good for anything except livestock. It was thick rope, off-white in the way of unbleached fibers. John took a few halting steps, enough to reach out and touch the rope.

Rodney settled to a halt next to him. "I found it at some ridiculous store where they played too much country music and wore hats that were far too large. They don't check carryon luggage on the Daedelus." Rodney puffed himself up, as if he'd pulled off some feat of heroic derring do. "I did some research. It's all so simple now that I understand the basics. Hardly a match for my genius, naturally. It is something of an art form, however, so I it will take even me a bit of practice." Rodney glared at him. "Technique is everything, so don't complain about feel."

"Rodney," John said.

"I have several books on the subject, but I don't think I'll need them. It is simple physics and anatomy. I've studied anatomy."

"What are you talking about?"

Rodney was silent for a few moments, to the extent that John didn't think he'd answer. Rodney picked up the rope, holding it out to John. "Do you trust me?"

He looked at the rope and didn't know what to think. He reached out and trailed his fingers over it. "Yes."

Rodney smiled. "Good." He tossed the rope on the bed. "Now, a few things first."

John frowned.

"The only condition we have so far is that you have to talk. You have to tell me yes and no and if anything doesn't feel right. And the other condition, that you are protected while we do this. If you don't feel safe, we don't do it. Ever." Rodney pointed to the zat on the bed side table.

John's frown relaxed. He nodded.

"We're going to add to that. We never mentioned it, but no offworld. I got that, no need to tell me. No declarations in the gateroom or mess hall, or anyplace else. This is strictly you and me." Rodney peeked up at him, looking a bit uncertain. "It probably didn't need to be said, but controlling the variables is important."

John nodded.

"What we're going to do here, tonight, we don't do often. No more than once a month. It's..." Rodney's hands flexed, as if reaching for the words. "It's too intense. Too much, I think. The smaller stuff," Rodney waved dismissively, "around the wrists, I don't think we need to set limitations. We can discuss it more if it gets to be," Rodney sucked in a serious breath, "intense."

When it became obvious Rodney was waiting for a response, John nodded. "Yeah. I agree."

Rodney smiled. "Good. Now, go on the balcony and look around. You'll see that there's no way anyone can see into my quarters. I'll start setting things up in here. Go, look."

John balked at the ridiculousness of the suggestion, but nodded when Rodney's face started to pucker into a frown. Rodney bustled around the room while he looked at the view. He'd already known that there wasn't anything to see but seemingly endless ocean. When Rodney started talking, he wasn't surprised to be ordered to strip, which he did quickly and efficiently. He thought he should be bothered by the fact that he was naked and Rodney was fully dressed, but he wasn't. 

He should be, though. The last time this had happened was months ago, not long after Todd the Wraith, but a few weeks before Rodney's sister and Rodney's extended absence from Atlantis. Maybe that was it. He'd spent more than a month without Rodney's grounding touch. It wasn't the ropes so much, though the 5-50 cord loop at odd times of the day meant a lot, but the circle of fingers compressing his wrist. He'd done it to himself, of course, like he'd always had, but it hadn't been enough. It wasn't Rodney.

He stood still while Rodney threaded and wove the rope around him and around a large, metal ring. He could feel the cool metal against his spine, where it hung and sometimes slapped against his skin as Rodney moved around him, intent on criss-crossing his body with diamond shaped rope patterns and carefully placed layers of wrapped rope around his biceps, thighs, and chest.

John closed his eyes and swayed with the push and pull of Rodney and his rope. This, he decided, was better than the bandages had been. Rodney's fingers shifted along his body, testing and moving the rope around. The fingers soothed his skin in their wake, smoothed the rope against his skin. That floating state, the half asleep, half awake state, settled into his body with an easy lassitude. At least until he felt a sharp sting on his left buttock.

Rodney has slapped his butt. _Spanked_ him with a flat hand. John's eyes popped open and he sucked in a breath. It hadn't hurt, but it was shocking.

"Stay alert, John. You can float off when I'm done."

Stay alert? He tried. He listened carefully to Rodney's movements, tried to figure out the intricate patterns Rodney was weaving, but the push-pull-sway with Rodney's fingers and the rope collecting him settled back in and dragged him toward the floating. So Rodney slapped him on the butt again.

"Don't make me do that. You have to stay alert until I'm done."

In the end, it took one more stinging slap to his butt before Rodney was satisfied with is weaving.

"Excellent work, if I do say so myself," Rodney said, standing in front of him and surveying the rope with a smirk. 

John blinked at him, unable to say a thing. He was fighting to keep his eyes open, to stay away from the siren call of the floating.

He focused on the ropes as Rodney checked them over again. They were wrapped around his biceps and chest, row after row. He could move his biceps away from his ribs, but only a fraction of an inch. The give was a little loose for his tastes, but the amount of rope winding around him made him feel snugged in. There was a similar winding around his thighs, which held them together, and around his hips. His wrists had a few coils of rope, which were bound to his thighs. He could not move his hands away from his legs. his waist and the rest of his chest had tight webbing holding him in.

Rodney moved around behind him where a few metal clicks sounded around his back. "Don't move. Not so much as twitch. This isn't dangerous, but I want it to be smooth, with as little as motion as possible."

John found that he could nod. 

"Talk, John."

John swallowed. "Yes."

Rodney pulled a drape away from the wall next to the open balcony doors. There was a handle for a winch? John watched him crank the handle, listened to the click of gears, and then felt himself lift from the floor. His eyes widened and he nearly flailed around. He held his head stiffly, wondering if he should make Rodney put him down. His body went up further, tilted until he was suspended flat, face down, with half of his body over the balcony and the other half in Rodney's quarters.

The wind ruffled through his hair and across his naked skin. He blinked again, holding perfectly still. He could see the ocean. The balcony didn't extend far, so if he lifted his chin a bit, he could see nothing but ocean several stories down. With the view and the feel of the wind....

"I'm flying," John said.

Rodney loomed in his vision, smiling and very pleased with himself. "Yes. That was the intent. You have no idea how difficult it was to—nevermind. One more thing and you can go wherever it is that you go that makes you so, so whatever."

John smiled. "I'm flying."

Rodney patted his cheek, and then pulled a wide piece of cloth down to wrap around his forehead. "There. You'll be able to rest your neck just by lowering your head down on plane with the rest of your body. Don't worry, it's hooked to a breakaway clip. Should my engineering fail for some completely unforeseeable and unimaginable reason, you won't break your neck."

"Rodney," he said through the floating feeling, "I'm flying."

"I know. I made this just for you to fly."

The floating feeling was overwhelming him, connecting him completely to Rodney, now. "C'mere," he said.

Rodney furrowed his brow and took a step closer.

"Closer."

Rodney took another step, and then another when asked, until he was breathing the same air as John. John tilted his head, please that he could do so freely, and pushed his chin forward. He tasted Rodney's crooked lips for the first time. He felt the surprise. He opened his mouth and pressed forward with his tongue. Rodney sucked in a breath, stiff as John used to be before Rodney came along and connected with him, before he abruptly relaxed, opened his mouth, and let John in, too. John could stay that way forever, connected to Rodney by rope, flight, and mouth. 

Rodney cupped John's cheeks and stepped back. "You fly," Rodney whispered. "We'll talk about this," Rodney's thumbs traced John's lips, "after." Rodney pressed a kiss to John's lips. "I'll stand watch so you can fly."

John smiled, eyes drifting closed. Rodney moved back into the room, but John didn't pay much attention. Instead, he let the floating feeling from the ropes and his connection to Rodney launch him into the sky.


End file.
